


good mornings (begin with you)

by kagome_angel



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Morning Sex, Sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 21:30:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10227881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kagome_angel/pseuds/kagome_angel
Summary: His days begin and end with Victor Nikiforov.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It was only a matter of time before I became inspired by these two and their absolutely beautiful relationship.

Katsuki Yuri wakes gradually, his body becoming aware of its surroundings, mind still foggy with sleep. There is a momentary sense of almost-panic, icy glaciers colliding in his stomach and sending a short-lived burst of anxiety through his veins; he releases a soft sigh of relief when he remembers that it’s Saturday and they are, in fact, not late for practice because it’s their day off.

He can feel warmth; he can feel sunlight on his face. Most importantly, he can feel the comforting weight of Victor’s body pressed against his own, head resting on his chest. He blinks his eyes open carefully, not wanting to quite greet the daylight just yet, but the sun is still low in the sky, just beginning to rise, and it doesn’t bother his eyes like he’d thought it would. The visual confirmation of Victor’s peacefully-sleeping form makes him smile and makes his heart feel like it could burst; it’s funny how, even a year-and-a-half later, all of this seems so very surreal at times, especially in moments like these when the rest of the world is still sleeping and it’s just the two of them together, just as inseparable as they’d been from the start.

Never had he ever dreamed that his life would become what it is now; never had he dared to dream that he’d not only be sharing the ice with Victor Nikiforov, but his life as well. He’d felt guilty months ago for taking Victor away from competitive skating, for keeping him all to himself as his coach; it seems so strange now, to think that part of him had tried to prepare to let go of that, to let go of Victor in order to avoid hurting him worse in the end by keeping him away from competing, himself. 

Part of him had been prepared to let go. However, the majority of him (and the whole of Victor, it had seemed) had had other plans… and here they are now, and Yuri wouldn’t change it for the world.

His days begin and end with Victor, and he knows in the depths of his soul that _this_ is exactly how it ought to be.

He shifts slightly, moving his right hand so that he can card his fingers gently through Victor’s hair. The gold band on his ring finger catches the morning sun streaming through the blinds that cover their bedroom window and it gleams beautifully, and Yuri thinks he’s more proud of this than he even would be of a gold medal.

Victor stirs and he feels a little guilty; he wants to tell him to go back to sleep because he knows better than anyone that Victor needs the rest (it isn’t easy to simultaneously coach and compete, but no matter how badly it wears on him, Victor never complains, not once, and it makes Yuri love him all the more for it). He kind of wants to go back to sleep himself, in fact. It seems like a good enough plan until drowsy, deep blue eyes open and focus on him, and suddenly he’s blushing and feeling warm for different reasons entirely.

( _That_ never gets old, either, and he already knows that there will never be a day in which those eyes and that smile don’t make his entire being react in multiple different ways.)

“Good morning,” Victor murmurs, and his voice is like crumpled velvet, low and utterly delicious, causing words and breath to stall in Yuri’s throat, and causing him to forget all about attempting to go back to sleep. It’s not fair, he knows. It’s _not_ , but it isn’t as if he wasn’t assaulted first (or so he’ll tell himself, anyway).

He doesn’t respond to the greeting verbally, opting instead to let his fingers follow the curve of Victor’s cheek (and yes, he does notice how those lashes flutter and how Victor leans in; it makes him melt every single time) until he reaches the older man’s lips. Here he pauses, gently pressing, and Victor presses back with a soft kiss, followed by a sweet smile.

Some logical, reasonable part of his mind is still trying to argue, still trying to point out that they ought to fucking take advantage of their day off to get some much-needed sleep, but that small bit of rationality is drowned out by the argument that they are taking _perfect_ advantage of their day off and wouldn’t you know that right at this moment, Victor looks absolutely anything _but_ exhausted and in dire need of rest?

Victor’s hand moves to touch his face as well and he closes his eyes and leans into it, no hesitation. He turns his head to press a kiss to skin and metal (Victor never takes the ring off, either), and then Victor is repositioning so that he can lean over Yuri, replacing his hand with his mouth, and it’s easy to melt into that, too.

Victor’s tongue darts out to lap at his lips and it’s a temptation that he can’t bring himself to resist; he opens to him without thought, without so much as even a hint of resistance or restraint. Victor kisses like he skates, like he lives (now): thoroughly and with intent. Yuri’s hands are in his hair and pulling him closer, holding him in place, before he even realizes it, and Victor’s hands are on either side of him, pressing into the mattress. Their bodies are already wonderfully bare thanks to their activities of the previous night (remembering that almost makes him blush, too), and he shifts his hips purposefully, experimentally (and perhaps a little cruelly), arching up just to hear Victor moan—and oh, is it ever music to his ears.

Victor nips at his bottom lip and grinds downward, slowly and unhurriedly and perhaps in total (and effective) retaliation; it’s Yuri’s turn to moan now, hands tightening in Victor’s hair, body moving on its own accord, seeking more friction, more heat, _more_ ….

Victor’s lips find their way to his neck and there, Yuri feels him press an open-mouthed kiss, followed shortly by a sharp bite, and Yuri gasps and squirms, little jolts of pleasure shooting up through his body; they intensify further when a wet tongue laps soothingly at the mark that Victor’s no doubt left behind (and he loves that, too—the fact that Victor likes to leave marks; it excites and satisfies something deep inside of him).

Those tantalizing hips sway against his again and Yuri arches up again, feeling the _best_ kind of helpless and idly thinking that he could come just from this, just from the slide of Victor’s body against his own. It isn’t like he hasn’t before, on more than one occasion, but he wants more, wants to feel _more_ , and so he doesn’t know whether to groan in relief or frustration when his lover’s hips still in their motions. He almost wants to rock forward and up again but he doesn’t, instead opting to bite his lip and gaze at the Russian in what he hopes is a pointed manner.

He supposes he’s missed his mark and must look nothing short of utterly silly when Victor decides to chuckle softly at him (and even though the laugh discourages him somewhat, it also makes him tingle all over so he supposes he can’t be too terribly annoyed) and then he’s kissing him again, chaste and sweet, before peppering kisses along the front of him as he works his way down Yuri’s body. 

Victor is beneath the sheets now, and Yuri can’t see him, but oh, he can _feel_ him, and that is, no doubt, Victor’s intention. 

Victor’s mouth is warmhot _slick_ against him, tongue and lips doing things that make him forget important things like his name and what he does for a living. Everything narrows down to Victor, and if that isn’t ironic, Yuri doesn’t know what is. 

He whimpers and fights the urge to buck up into his lover’s mouth. His legs are trembling and his hands are, too. He grabs at the sheets, needing something to ground him, and his grip on them is a white-knuckled one; Victor hums and the vibrations combined with the warm wetness are almost enough to cause his undoing. He’s torn between begging his lover to either stop or _never_ stop when Victor suddenly pulls back and the loss of his mouth is damn near excruciating but then he emerges from the sheets and reaches for their nightstand, and Yuri knows what he’s looking for and that knowledge alone makes his mouth go dry and his stomach flip-flop. It makes him _ache_ with need, but thankfully Victor doesn’t make him wait long.

The bedsheets are discarded, tossed aside, and Victor fits himself between Yuri’s legs again. For a moment, it’s nothing more than a tantalizing tease because Victor’s so achingly close to Yuri’s cock again, and just thinking about what that talented mouth can do and _just did_ makes Yuri whimper again, but then lube-slicked fingers are probing gently at his entrance and he momentarily forgets all about Victor’s mouth, choosing instead to focus on what his lover’s fingers are doing to him in the here and now.

Those fingers work him open carefully and slowly, completely different from their frantic pace last night; neither of them had wanted to be careful or slow, so the taking had been more than a little rough and _entirely_ what both of them had needed at the time. But now—

Now Victor’s fingers are moving within him languidly, deliberately, and his mouth is pressing sweet kisses to the bruises that he’s left on Yuri’s inner thighs and hips, and even though the acts of apology aren’t necessary, even though Yuri had absolutely _loved_ every moment of their lovemaking the night before, he still feels his heart flutter at Victor’s actions.

He runs his fingers through silver-grey hair again just because, simply wanting to and needing to touch, to make Victor _feel_ that that adoration goes both ways.

The older man smiles at him, and that love is reflected back at him in those endless pools of blue. It’s a comfort all its own, and if he’s ever felt insecure in regards to his place in this man’s life, Victor is quick to remind him, to correct him, to let him know that he’s in this for the long haul, too.

The fingers that are inside of him, scissoring and stretching, suddenly curl and press, brushing against that spot that makes Yuri groan helplessly; pleasure sears through him, whitehot and liquid, flowing through arteries and veins and when Victor does _that_ again, he bites down on his lip to attempt to control the sound that he makes, but he fails. Lashes at half-mast, he gazes at the man who is doing these wonderful things to him and Victor’s smile is bright and innocent even though his actions most certainly aren’t.

“I like the sounds you make,” Victor informs him, as if he feels the need for clarification. Yuri already feels incredibly warm, but at his lover’s comment, he’s pretty certain his ears turn bright red. He almost wants to hide his face but he doesn’t. Instead, he closes his eyes and when Victor adds a third finger and twists his wrist, he doesn’t bother to attempt to muffle or silence his whimper. 

When he opens his eyes again, Victor is watching him, blue eyes heavy-lidded, all lustful and _wanting_ and oh, can Yuri ever relate to _that_.

Those deft, nimble fingers find that spot inside of him and they press again, more firmly this time, and again, and again until Yuri is little more than a writhing mess on the sheets; he can feel the need for release steadily growing, can feel his cock twitch and his balls tighten. The thing is, Victor has always known exactly what to do to make him helpless, and it isn’t like he’s come to expect anything any different. No, it isn’t a surprise at all that he’s laying here, his body clenching around skillful fingers, his mental faculties nowhere to be found while he keens and squirms and gasps and pants.

He loves it, and he knows that Victor loves it, too. The knowledge sends another jolt of pleasure through him.

“Yuri.” Victor’s voice is barely more than a husky whisper, something akin to desperation coloring the edges of that undisguised want that Yuri can hear _perfectly_. It makes him shudder, makes his breath hitch, makes him want and need his lover all the more.

He doesn’t trust his voice right now; he doesn’t trust his words to not come out all wobbly and affected and jumbled, so he speaks without saying a word. He brushes silver-grey tendrils of hair away from those blue _blue_ eyes and he nods and he reaches for Victor, feeling a sudden, surprising sense of loss when those fingers withdraw from him. 

Victor takes a moment to grab the lubricant again and apply a generous amount in his palm; Yuri watches, lips parted, as Victor strokes himself and the action serves more than one purpose, more than just the obvious; it sends another quicksilver bolt of heat through him, seeing Victor touch himself like that and Victor knows it, and Yuri isn’t mad about it at all.

Yuri’s own currently-neglected cock gives a twitch, pre-cum leaking from the slit; it’s tempting to reach down and touch himself but he doesn’t—that will happen soon enough. Right now, he prefers to focus on the man who is now fitting himself between his thighs. 

He touches Victor’s face sweetly, with reverence, smiling as his lover leans into it, gasping softly as the blunt head of Victor’s cock nudges at his entrance. It’s a cautious, hesitant movement, more than likely because Victor is worried Yuri might be sore from the night before, and he _is_ but that’s okay. It’s okay, because his lover is pushing in, filling him, pausing when he’s fully seated inside of him, and it is magnificently _good_. The remaining soreness from the night before doesn’t even compare to his need and want of this, right here and right now.

“Yuri,” Victor says again, brows knitted together in concentration, body going rigid for just a moment, perhaps giving time for Yuri (or the both of them) to adjust. Victor’s constant consideration of him and what he might want or need makes his heart flutter every _single_ time; it isn’t any different in this moment, but he knows that what he wants and needs right now is for Victor to move.

He doesn’t know if something in his eyes or face has changed, or if he’s said something without even realizing it, but in the next instant Victor is taking the cue that Yuri hadn’t even realized he’d given, and he’s pulling back, only to push in again—more firmly this time, and just as deeply as that first careful push. 

Yuri releases a shuddering moan and Victor groans, eyes closed and lips parted. He repeats the motion and the slick slide of his cock inside of Yuri’s body sends sparks of pure pleasure ricocheting around in Yuri’s lower belly; it makes his toes curl and pulls sounds from him that, before all of this, he hadn’t know he’d been capable of making (at least, until Victor had shown him just exactly what he could make him do). Sounds like this spill from his lips on quite a regular basis, these days.

Victor gradually begins a rhythm that is almost languid, unhurried for sure, completely unlike how he’d been the night before. Last night had been a frantic explosion; this morning is a slow burn. The need is still very much present, just different, not quite lazy, but Victor’s thrusts are measured, deliberate, and Yuri gets lost in it, in this (this dance between their bodies), in _him_. It’s so shockingly easy, to allow the world to narrow down to just this, to forget everything _except_ this.

Victor pauses, changing their positions slightly; he places his hands on Yuri’s hips and tilts them, and when he pushes in again, Yuri keens and grasps at Victor’s shoulders, nails digging in, finding purchase. His hips buck of their own accord and Victor makes a pleased sound, rewarding Yuri with another firm thrust, hitting that spot that makes Yuri see stars behind his closed eyelids. It’s good, better than, and Victor’s breathing is heated and heavy and—

Yuri slips a hand between them, stroking his aching cock slowly, arching up into his own touch. He hears Victor’s breath catch, sees him watching the movement of that hand, and he thumbs the head, gathering the fluid at the tip and smearing it, biting his lip at the sensation. 

“Yes,” Victor hisses, gaze still focused on Yuri’s hand, “like that, Yuri.”

Yuri’s hand matches the pace of Victor’s thrusts, and it’s all becoming too much despite their slow rhythm; Yuri can feel his impending orgasm drawing closer with every slick push of Victor’s hips, with every stroke and squeeze that he gives himself. His legs are shaking, body tensing and breath leaving him in short, erratic pants.

“Come for me,” he hears Victor say over the white noise in his mind, and Victor’s shoving into him and _ordering_ him and _begging_ him and it tips him right over the edge. He comes with Victor’s name on his lips, Victor’s dick jerking and pulsing deep inside of him, and yeah things are _really_ slick and messy now but Yuri doesn’t mind, doesn’t care. The sun is higher in the sky now and he watches the play of light in Victor’s hair, all gold and silver, as he gradually relaxes, his breathing eventually evening out.

A few moments later, Victor carefully slides out of him, leaning down to press an affectionate kiss to his sweat-dampened forehead. 

When he feels he can trust his voice to some degree, Yuri releases a joyful, throaty laugh and says, “Good morning.”

Victor smirks. “Can’t argue with that. It certainly is.” 

And isn’t it funny how, even now, after everything they’ve done, Victor can still manage to make him blush like a school girl.

They are going to need a shower. The sheets are going to need washing. But for now, it’s enough to just exist in this space, together, while the rest of the world catches up with them.

Katsuki Yuri’s days begin and end with Victor Nikiforov, and he knows in the depths of his soul that he wouldn’t – couldn’t – have it any other way.

 

~END~


End file.
